


Tides

by LingeringLilies



Series: Soft Sin [3]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F, Fingering, Masturbation, PWP, Sleepy Sex, soft sin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-15
Updated: 2016-04-15
Packaged: 2018-06-02 08:25:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6559258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LingeringLilies/pseuds/LingeringLilies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lexa wakes up in the middle of the night needing something. She tries to get it without waking Clarke.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tides

**Author's Note:**

> Posted on my Tumblr (lingeringlilies) a few weeks ago. Uploading here for posterity or something like that.

Lexa isn’t sure what wakes her. Perhaps it’s a dream she can’t quite remember. Perhaps Clarke shifted in bed beside her. Perhaps there was a noise in the hall.

What she does know for certain is that most of her warmth seems to be slung between her legs, tingling and dragging her away from the possibility of falling back asleep. Her pulse is faster than it should be for having been asleep, and there’s an inner hunger, a restlessness that makes her shift her legs to make space for the heat between them.

This hasn’t happened more than once or twice that Lexa can recall. With the brutality of war always around her, her body seemed to shut down its own needs aside from food and water and occasional rest. But now that war has been staved off and Clarke is around all the time, desire has crept back into Lexa’s body like a tide. There is no stopping it, no damming the waters, no preventing the pools from being filled.

She turns to look at Clarke, who is sleeping deeply, face mushed against her pillow, a strand of her hair moving every time she breathes. Lexa looks down her body; her skin glows in the moonlight streaming in through the window. The silver tones are different than the gold and white light Lexa sees Clarke’s body in most of the time. She studies how it illuminates Clarke’s shoulder and arm, how it highlights the curve of her waist leading to the sheet tucked over her hip. Clarke’s arm covers most of her chest, but Lexa squints and makes out one of her nipples.

A surge between her legs makes her snap her head away, looking toward the ceiling, taking a calming breath. She shouldn’t be ogling Clarke in her sleep. It feels insensitive.

But Clarke is so beautiful and sexy sleeping beside her like that. Lexa thinks that if Clarke didn’t want her to look, she might have put on a shirt or something.

She recalls Clarke removing her shirt earlier that night; straddling her in the very bed they’re sleeping in, pinning Lexa to the sheets with a gaze that indicated imminent ravishment. She’d followed through to an overwhelming degree, which makes Lexa’s current predicament even more perplexing. She should feel sated, but she’s not.

Lexa’s need escalates. She tenses and slams her eyes shut, letting the memory carry on until she realizes it isn’t helping matters at all.

Perhaps she can take care of matters quietly without disturbing Clarke. She’s touched herself occasionally in this bed before, though always with a tinge of sadness and loneliness. It wouldn’t be terrible to slip her hand between her legs and try to disperse some of the tension. She wouldn’t even need to finish; the touch alone might calm her enough to go back to sleep.

Hoping Clarke won’t mind, Lexa slides her hand silently through the sheets, down her stomach, curling her fingers into the the slippery, tender flesh between her legs. It’s warm to the touch. She purses her lips to hold back a relieved sigh. Having denied herself pleasure for so many years, giving in is beyond bliss.

She closes her eyes, images of Clarke on top of her fading in and out. Lexa curls her fingers gently, stroking herself, feeling how slick she is. She keeps her mouth closed, taking measured breaths through her nose, trying to keep her body steady.

Before long her chest is rising and falling with breaths that feel too gusty for the stillness of the night. She swallows, tipping her head back to open her throat and airway in an effort to be quieter. This only reminds her of Clarke’s mouth on her now-exposed neck, Clarke’s breath loud in her ear.

She shivers, realizing there’s no way she’s just going to calm down without finishing. She cringes at how little she thought this through. Clarke’s ever-present sensuality really has clouded her mind. At least in private.

She feels Clarke stir beside her and freezes. She can’t believe she put herself in this position. She doesn’t dare risk moving her hand in case it calls attention to what she’s been doing. She bites into her lip, hoping to constrict some of the unruly desire flowing through her.

She hears the slipping of sheets, Clarke adjusting herself on the pillow. She stays as still as possible until a full minute of silence has passed and her arousal is reduced to a manageable simmer. Clarke doesn’t sound like she’s awake. She was probably just shifting in her sleep. Perhaps if Lexa builds herself up slower, or if she slows her touches gradually until the urge leaves her like a wave going back out to sea, she can get a handle on herself and go back to sleep.

She starts drawing into herself again, the motion imperceptible beneath the sheet. She tries to constrict her ribs from expanding and contracting too much as she breathes.

Then Clarke moves beside her again, slipping through the sheets until there’s a hand on Lexa’s shoulder. Lexa freezes again, feeling caught. She opens her eyes, looking as far to the side toward Clarke as she can without turning her head. Is she asleep? Clarke’s eyes are closed, but after a moment she shifts toward Lexa, pressing as close as she can, the very nipple Lexa had admired earlier now pressed against her arm.

Clarke slides her hand down the length of Lexa’s arm, making Lexa tremble with arousal and fear as Clarke’s fingers curl over her own where they’re still nestled in her flushed folds.

She’s caught. She really thought Clarke was a deeper sleeper and that she had been quiet enough.

“Sorry,” Lexa whispers. She’s not entirely sure what she’s apologizing for, but it feels appropriate.

Clarke inhales sleepily and starts moving her fingers, urging Lexa to continue. Lexa can hardly believe it. She thought Clarke would be upset or annoyed, but instead she’s sleepily assisting her. She feels frozen.

Clarke lifts Lexa’s hand away and puts her fingers back in their place, teasing at Lexa’s opening before slipping inside.

Lexa can’t hold back the noise she makes this time; a gasp and groan that come out together, a sound of relief and gratitude and disbelief. Clarke responds by pressing her lips to Lexa’s neck.

Lexa closes her eyes, surrendering to the surreality of what is happening.

She never thought she’d have someone in her bed again, let alone someone as beautiful and sexy and generous as Clarke. Every lonely night now seems to serve the purpose of increasing her gratitude for the present: Clarke is hers, and she is Clarke’s, and she can’t remember what loneliness or grief feels like.

Clarke’s fingers and mouth and the novelty of the still night punctured with sighs and gasps wind Lexa up quickly. Clarke hardly needs to change her pace or pressure before Lexa is tensing, drawing her leg up a few inches, chest heaving as she tries to hang on for a little while longer, savoring the pleasure Clarke affords her.

Her efforts to stave off her release are no more effective than trying to delay a tide. She feels the freefall, then the locking of her muscles and lungs as she arches back, straining through ecstasy. She folds and resumes panting as Clarke slows her motions, mouth sleepy against Lexa’s neck.

Lexa comes down as though she has just woken, alert and disbelieving. She lays still for a minute, panting as she stares at the ceiling, until she feels herself rolling toward Clarke. All she wants in the world is to curl around her, to cling to her in adoration and gratitude, to prevent her from ever slipping out to sea. She presses into Clarke with her shoulder, rolling Clarke onto her back, drawing her leg over Clarke’s hip. She lays jack-knifed against her, drawing her arm over Clarke to hold her close. She kisses Clarke’s cheek.

Sometimes she still can’t believe Clarke is real and in her bed every night.

“Thank you,” Lexa murmurs, pressing a kiss to Clarke’s cheek again.

“Anytime,” Clarke mumbles, eyes still closed as a trace of a naughty smile passes over her face.


End file.
